LEAN ON ME
CHAPTER ONE
"Hurry, Mommy. I wanna ride before it gets dark!" Melanie stomped her small foot and stuck her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.
“Calm down, honey. It won't be dark for a while yet. You have plenty of time." Sandy Morrow brushed her daughter’s blonde curls back from her forehead and relished the feel of the soft strands against her palm. God, she loved her little girl. A tomboy with a pixie face, Mel was a constant whirlwind of activity who tackled every task with a single-minded determination Sandy wished she could tap into for herself. She was also stubborn and hard-headed on occasion, and Sandy knew she let her get away with it too often.
Melanie looked forward every evening to getting on her tricycle, a "berfday" gift from her Uncle Ryan, and setting off on new adventures, usually with her best friend, Jenny, in tow. But Jenny was on vacation this week, so Melanie had been at loose ends and more demanding of Sandy’s time and attention than usual.
While her four-year-old chatterbox kept up the running demands to go outside, Sandy changed from her navy-blue pinstriped jumpsuit into a pair of well-worn denim cutoffs and a bright red tank top with a big yellow smiley-face on the front. She took her long hair down from its French twist and immediately felt her headache ease. She left her feet bare because she hated wearing shoes unless it was absolutely necessary.
In the kitchen, she filled a glass with sweet iced tea while Melanie tugged on her shirt as she hopped impatiently from one foot to the other. Sandy sighed and left the kitchen, crossed the short hall that led to the foyer, and opened the front door. As soon as she stepped outside, her daughter dashed out behind her, slamming the door in her impatience. Sandy winced and rubbed her forehead.
Melanie ran for her tricycle as Sandy settled into the swing on the wide front porch. "No farther than Jenny's house, then right back, understand?" Melanie waved without turning around and continued down the sidewalk.
A door slammed next door and a booming male voice yelled, "Jason, get in here right now!"
Oh, Lord, please. Not again. Since they'd moved in two weeks ago, the Thurmans had fought constantly. Screaming and yelling seemed to be their only method of communication, with slamming doors and rattling windows added for emphasis. Not once had Sandy heard them use a normal tone of voice.
All she wanted when she got home from work was a tall, cold glass of tea, the peaceful rocking of the old front porch swing, and time with her daughter. A few minutes to relax wasn't too much to ask, was it? Why couldn't the Thurmans have chosen somewhere else to live? Their constant fights made her stomach churn.
The Thurmans didn't belong in her quiet, family neighborhood. The streets were laid out so that most of them were dead-end, making traffic slow and sparse. It was a safe haven for the kids, a place to ride their bikes and skateboards, or to play soccer in the street. Now they had a teenager--an angry teenager with a drivers license--to watch out for.
Finally, after another door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows, the noise abated next door and Sandy breathed deeply as her taut muscles began to relax. She let one bare foot drop to the floor, pushing the swing in a soothing rhythm. Her eyes drifted closed. Just for a minute.
The front screen slammed next door, the loud snap jolting her upright. She glanced over to see Hunter Thurman, hands fisted in his front pockets, jaw tightly clenched. He didn't seem to notice anything around him as he glared at his porch floor.
When she'd first met him, Sandy was instantly attracted. It should be a sin for a man to look that good. He was tall and powerfully built, with thick black hair and chiseled features. He carried himself with the grace of an athlete and the perfect posture of a soldier. He'd greeted her with a wonderful little-boy smile, full of mischief, that crinkled his eyes and made her breath catch. Just shaking his hand had made her heart race.
